Ankavandra
by CountryGrl
Summary: Martin may be flying with Swiss Air these days, but his heart will always be with OJS. And the newest chapter of his life will be written with that in mind. (Unashamedly a baby-fic. This is what my life has come to.)
1. Chapter 1: Ankavandra

**AN: Posting in a rush with very, very hazy ideas about where I'm going to take this, but I was hit by a sudden very Cabin Pressure-y mood this evening, so here goes!**

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><p><span><strong>ANKAVANDRA<strong>

"All right…. Ashton Keynes."

"Challenge." Douglas tried to keep the irritation from his voice. As soon as he found out how his opponent was cheating at Place Name Dominoes he was going to give him what for.

"It's in Wiltshire. My sister lives there. Google it."

"Drat._ Milton_ Keynes." A more obvious one, but better to reply straight away than leave a gap.

"Milton Regis."

"Ah, easy, Bognor Regis."

"…Lyme Regis."

"Aha! Can't re-use 'Regis', it was 'Bognor' we were looking for. Better luck next time." Douglas smirked. At last. Loath though he was to admit it, the days of effortless victory had ended when Martin left for Switzerland. Now he had to work harder and longer for that satisfaction during the lazy days spent on stand.

"As I recall, you placed no restrictions on which word followed over to the next turn. All you said was the new place had to use one word of the previous two."

"Clearly you've not played a lot of Dominoes. Only the exposed end of the chain is open for play except in the case of spinner."

"Clearly you've limited your experience to that of traditional Dominoes. In the Maltese Cross Variation, you'll find—"

The protestations of the other pilot were interrupted by the loud, insistent ring of Douglas's mobile. Douglas inwardly congratulated himself on a good choice of pilot-silencing ringtone.

"Sounds _fascinating_, Herc, truly, but if you could just hold that thought…"

He glanced at the caller ID before answering.

In the split second it took to lift the phone to his ear he felt a faint twinge of _something_ as the contact name 'Sir' brought back years of playful rivalry which had, at some point, tumbled headlong into actual friendship.

"Martin! What a pleasant surprise."

"Douglas, hello, can I just—I mean could you—" the voice sounded strained and nervous, even these few syllables falling over one another haphazardly. Little change there.

"Sorry, should that be 'Prince' Martin now? Or perhaps Your Serene Highness?"

"It's just I don't know what to do and I just thought—I mean I have to—because you always know what to do and—I need to—"

Even for Martin this was sounding unusually panicked. Douglas decided to drop the teasing for the moment. "I think what you need is to breathe, for a second, and calm down, and then perhaps consider telling me what the matter is. I'm flattered that you came to me for a dose of wisdom, Martin, but I'm afraid my mind-reading powers just don't work down the phone line as well as they do face-to-face."

There was a pause on Martin's end. "Okay. Calm, yes. Very calm. I am calm. This is me…being calm."

"That's more like it. Now – and please try to use full sentences this time – what is the matter?"

"It's _today_, Douglas."

"What is? Oh! You mean—"

"Yes! She's just gone in!"

"Well, that's good, isn't it? I'm sure it will all go _swimmingly_—"

"But I'm supposed to _be_ there!"

Douglas could hear Martin's voice rising once more to the panicked peak of hysteria. Herc was looking at him questioningly, clearly hearing the heightened tones from across the departure lounge.

"What! So why aren't you?"

"Because I'm in ANKAVANDRA!"

"Bless you."

"Madagascar, Douglas, I'm in _bloody _Madagascar! We're not flying back 'til the morning and I've got way of getting home any faster and can you just _tell me what to do_ please because you've done this before and I haven't and you always know what to do every time—"

"Touching though your faith in me is, Martin, and however much I'd love to help, I'm afraid I'm in Fitton, and you, as you've explained quite clearly, are in Madagascar. There's about five thousand miles between you and your beloved at this current time, and even if I could swing by in GERTI and pick you up – which I can't, by the way – it would take us ten hours at least to get to you and then another nine or so to get back to Liechtenstein, so..."

"_I know all that_!" Martin sounded near to breaking point. Douglas trailed off. "I know I can't be there. I'm not asking you to get me there, Douglas, I'm asking…" There was a pause. A shuddery breath. "I'm asking how I'm supposed to just _wait_."

"Ah."

"What do I do? I can't just _sit_ here."

"Well, it seems you haven't got much choice."

"I'm… Douglas, I can't do it."

"Of course you can. Nothing easier."

"I can't, I'm not ready, I've got no idea what I'm doing. I'm going to get it wrong because I _always_ do…"

"Ah, I see." Douglas held back a chuckle as it suddenly all made sense in an unmistakably _Martin_-ish way. "We're not talking about waiting in Madagascar any more, are we?"

"No." It was a forlorn voice, the voice of someone very, very young and very, very afraid.

Douglas sighed deeply. "You might not be able to believe this, Martin, but at the beginning I was just as terrified as you are right now."

There came a snort of derision, and Douglas was pleased to hear the sound. "I'm _so _sure."

"No, I was. I'm not just saying that." Douglas paused, unsure just how sickly-sweet he was prepared to let this show of solidarity become. "You're going to do just fine. Because I said so, and you of all people should know that I'm always right."

Martin said nothing for a long moment.

"Thanks."

"Not at all," Douglas let the last syllable hang for a second before adding, with more than a single note of pride in his voice, "…_Dad._"


	2. Chapter 2: Berne Belp

**~AN~ Proof that reviews, like the first officer, are magic: forty minutes ago, none of this existed. Then I saw the first chapter had some reviews! I'm so easy to motivate ;) Thank you, mrspencil and DeleaMarie! This is quite fun, actually...**

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><p><span><strong>BERNE BELP<strong>

It was the fastest cup of tea Arthur Shappey had ever produced. For a man already known for his excitable disposition, he had perhaps outdone himself today in his eagerness to get back into the room. Douglas was not convinced the kettle had been given enough time to reach boiling point, and the tea was looking suspiciously watery, as if, say, a teabag had only been fleetingly introduced into its life before being cruelly snatched away.

"Anything?" Arthur asked, excitedly, placing Douglas's mug down so firmly on his desk that some of the offending liquid splashed onto the first officer's shirt sleeve.

"Despite your prolonged absence, Arthur, no, there's been no news in any of the seventy-five whole seconds you missed." Douglas dabbed at the tea on his shirt with a tissue, shooting the young steward a slightly disdainful look.

"Sorry, Douglas! I'm just—so excited!"

"You're certainly masking it very well." Douglas grinned at him. "Not that I blame you. It _is _rather – now, what's the word? Begins with a B, I believe…"

"Brilliant. _Completely_ brilliant."

"That's it."

Douglas's phone was on his desk, propped up by a pile of seldom-opened manuals, ready to be snatched up and answered immediately when there was news to be known. So far, since Martin's first panicked phone call the day before, it had remained stubbornly silent.

The door to the portakabin opened again and Carolyn entered, closely followed by Herc, who was carrying two recyclable, steaming cups of coffee.

"Morning, Douglas," said Carolyn, in her usual tone of cheeriness mixed with potential rage energy. "I sincerely hope there has been no news, because if I find out that you already know something and didn't phone me _immediately_ to pass it on, you'll be introduced to a world of pain."

"Nothing yet," Douglas confirmed, smiling slightly at the thought of Carolyn – _Carolyn_ – being quite so possessive about news of the imminent arrival. "Is it espresso day today? I missed the company memo." He looked pointedly at Herc's cupholding display.

"Oh, Douglas, don't tell me you let Arthur make you _tea_," Carolyn said in disbelief. "_Today_? Surely you didn't expect to end up with something palatable when he's this excited?"

Douglas masked the fact that this hadn't occurred to him with a wry smile and a sneery, "Arthur's _always_ excited, and besides, it's lovely." He took a large swig of his supposed tea, wishing he hadn't before, during and after the action. "Lovely." He repeated, somewhat less convincingly.

Arthur was still moving around the room at an alarming speed. "Why are you _all_ not excited? We're getting a baby Skip!"

Herc chuckled at him. "We _are_ excited, Arthur…but if we were all doing what you're doing we'd break some furniture. We'll let you carry on demonstrating the physical reality of our collective inner excitement, if it's all the same to you."

Arthur didn't bat an eyelid. "Brilliant!"

"And, technically speaking, _we_ are not getting a baby Skip," Carolyn added gently. "I hate to remind you again, dear heart, but Martin and Theresa are the ones who are really getting a baby Skip… of course we'll be visiting, but we're not going to get to see him or her all the time…"

Her son laughed at this clearly preposterous suggestion. "Mum! Don't be silly, we've got an aeroplane! Of course we'll be seeing them all the time!"

"I have an aeroplane, that is true. However, since it is the sole aeroplane upon which my business relies, I cannot use GERTI to fly back and forth between Fitton and Vaduz for the rest of her days!"

Arthur considered this, even halting slightly to do so. He quickly recovered his pace, though. "Well then. We'll just have to move to Liechtenstein."

Carolyn rolled her eyes. "Not this again."

Douglas grinned. Herc finally seemed to give up on the idea that Carolyn was ever going to take her drink from him, and set them both down on the empty desk.

"I'm afraid I will have to put my foot down on this one," Arthur said matter-of-factly. "Because like Theresa said my responsibilities are of paramount importance, as the baby's god-brother."

Carolyn couldn't help but smile at the name. She had been extremely touched to receive the title of godmother from Martin, something she would never in a million years have expected when she first interviewed him for the position as first officer all those years ago, but even that moment had been topped by her discovery that Liechtenstein's newest royal couple had extended the baby's official god-family to include an excitable, Labrador-puppy of a 32-year-old brother. Oblivious of the slightly invented status of his new title, Arthur had immediately begun a career as Baby Expert, reading at least four pages of Baby Facts and even penning a few storybooks in his own childlike handwriting. All of them featured Brilliant Baby and Super Steward, and chronicled the adventures of the duo as they travelled the world in a sixteen-seater jet. Literary gold they were not, but Carolyn had to admit they were verging on heart-warming.

It was painful, then, to have to keep reminding Arthur that he might not be able to be as involved in the baby's life as he'd clearly like to be. Though he'd never slipped far enough to be considered miserable by any normal standards, his usual cheeriness had waned somewhat in the weeks following Martin's departure, and it had never again quite reached the dizzying heights of yesteryear for very long, not until Theresa's announcement. It was coming up for two years now since Captain Crieff's last MJN flight, but Carolyn privately thought that the last seven or so months had been the happiest ones for Arthur in that entire period. Her eternally positive son was clearly convinced that the baby's arrival was going to change everything, and it tugged on her slightly frayed heartstrings every time she remembered that it probably wasn't. Not for them.

"How's the book coming along, Arthur?" Douglas inquired, eager to steer the conversation from the well-trodden route of Fitton vs. Liechtenstein.

Arthur beamed. "It's great! I'm still on the same bit as yesterday, because I thought since it's so close now I might as well wait until we know if it's a girl baby Skip or a boy baby Skip, then I can go back and put all the hims and hers in where I left the gaps. And colour in the clothes in all the pictures. Though I don't think the baby will mind much what colour it's wearing in the pictures. Or at all really. I quite like pink and Mum wears blue all the time so I think all this colour business is mostly silly."

Herc nodded sagely. "Meaningless colour-to-gender designation. It's all to do with the fact that gender is a largely social construct which has little or nothing to do with genetics." Douglas raised his eyebrows at him. Arthur had no expression on his face. "I mean. You're right, Arthur."

The steward smiled again. "Brilliant!"

Carolyn had crossed the room and was eyeing the company wall-chart. "You know, we're booked to fly a crate load of light-bulb fittings out from Switzerland on Wednesday. We're collecting them from the Berne Belp airport. I'm sure whoever is expecting them is depending greatly on their safe arrival. Perhaps it would be a good idea to fly out there a couple of days early to ensure we're definitely there to pick them up."

Herc smiled at her. If Carolyn was feeling particularly venomous she might call it a simper. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

"It does sound like a very wise precaution," Douglas chimed in. "And of course…if we do happen to arrive early for any reason…and if there are any maternity wards in Vaduz in desperate need of visitors…"

All three of them turned to Arthur, waiting for the penny to drop.

"Wow!" He exclaimed. "There's an actual place called Berne Belp?"

"Yes, there is, but—" Carolyn began, but trailed off almost immediately.

Douglas's phone had begun to ring.

"Hello, Martin? Hold on, I'm putting you on speakerphone…"


	3. Chapter 3: Camberley

**~AN~ So...much...dialogue... What is plot, again? Ah well... I never claimed that this was anything other than fluff, after all...**

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><p><span>CAMBERLEY<span>

Arthur's head was practically resting on Douglas's shoulder, so keen was he to be as close as possible to the phone. Carolyn and Herc were on the other side of the desk, grinning like twin Cheshires trying to outdo each other at a cat show.

Quickly the excited expressions melted into looks of concern though, as the crew of MJN Air listened to the whimpery, snuffling sounds coming from the phone.

"Martin?" Douglas said almost sharply, trying to swallow down the first tendrils of panic. "Is everything all right?"

A torrent of dreadful possibilities were streaming through his brain, each more sinister than the last. No, he tried to tell himself, it can't be, it can't be.

"Skip?" It was barely more than a whisper. Carolyn attempted to give Arthur a reassuring smile across the table, but he wasn't looking at her, he was staring at the phone with the heartbreak of a thousand abandoned puppies etched into his boyish features.

After what seemed like a fair few centuries (but was probably only a couple of seconds), Martin's voice returned to them, and they all breathed matching sighs of relief.

"Hello!" he said, somehow managing to sound cheery and teary at the same time. "Sorry, I was just – It's all fine! Everyone's fine! Especially – especially my daughter! She's….she's so beautiful, Douglas."

"Congratulations, Skip!"

"Oh, hello Arthur! …Who else is there?"

"Just us," Carolyn chimed in. Herc echoed Arthur's 'congratulations'.

"Oh. Um. That…what you heard before, there was, there was something in my eye."

Carolyn chuckled. "We've heard that one before."

Martin sighed, and then laughed too, with just a tinge of hysterical tension-release. "Theresa told me I wouldn't be able to phone straight away without doing that, I was trying to prove her wrong. Should have waited a minute. Not very professional."

"Well, this is hardly a professional business."

"Mmmmmm."

"Martin," Carolyn continued, "I was going to just politely wait but it seems you're just going to sigh dreamily at us down the phoneline, which I'm sure is quite charming, but I for one would like to know the baby's weight, whether she has hair, whether she's got a name yet and how Theresa is getting on. Tedious though such a request might seem."

Herc rolled his eyes at her. Carolyn elbowed him.

"Erm, well, she…she weighs seven pounds nine ounces. Just a tiny little bit above average, which is good, well, it wouldn't really matter if she was a little bit smaller or a little bit bigger, but it's nice to know she's within a normal range—"

"Excellent," Douglas chipped in, "Unlike her father, she may escape a life of step-ladders, short jokes and never being able to get a good view of a parade."

"Yes," Martin said distantly. Douglas snickered. Blissful new-father-Martin was so oblivious to teasing that he was even agreeing with it. He wondered how long this glorious change would last.

"Anyway. Um, there is a little bit of hair. Dark, like Theresa's. Um, and we haven't got a name set in stone yet. Theresa has a lot of quite scary and quite royal relatives and we've got to name her after one of them. Or some of them, even. I'll let you know when we've decided."

"And how is Theresa?" Herc asked politely.

"Oh! She's fine! She's very, very…fine. Tired. But happy."

"How long since the last time you slept, Martin?"

"We-ell, I managed to get an earlier flight back from Ankavandra yesterday afternoon, not actually that long after I phoned you, and then it turned out that they'd taken Theresa into hospital very very early what with her being, well, a princess I suppose, so things didn't actually start happening until just after I arrived in the early hours of the morning, which meant I didn't have to miss very much if I didn't sleep, and since the actual birth I've just been crying and phoning people mostly, so, um, I think, only about… twenty-seven hours? Not too long…and I wasn't working very hard…Theresa's more tired than me!"

"I'm sure she is," Carolyn conceded. "Well done her."

"Lost for words, Arthur?" Herc inquired, glancing over at his sort-of-but-not-really-stepson during the pause in the conversation.

Arthur just beamed. "It's just…it's just so _brilliant_!"

"Ah, yes," said Douglas, "Life begets life begets life begets life. Nothing ever changes. And Arthur is always on hand with the right word."

"I think possibly," Martin mused aloud, "Today is the most brilliant day that I have ever been alive on."

This was allowed to hang in the air for a moment or too. Then the disembodied voice of their previous captain seemed to snap out of its reverie. "Oh! And I've just remembered. I…I want to ask you a quite enormous favour, Carolyn…"

Carolyn raised her eyebrows. "Oh?"

"It's just…if it wouldn't be too much trouble…we'd cover the costs, obviously….do you think there's any way you could fly over today or tomorrow?"

Carolyn chuckled, "Martin, that's hardly—"

"I know, I'm sorry, I can't really expect you to, you've probably got a job on or something anyway—"

"No, Martin, that's not what I meant, we were already thinking of—"

"We're coming, Skip!" Arthur exclaimed. "We're coming straight away! Immediately now, in this actual minute!"

"That's…that's great! Thank you, Carolyn, but, um, I'm afraid I do have a slight ulterior motive, I mean, I do want you four here, obviously, because you're, well, you know, but I was going to ask…if you'd mind bringing my mum, Simon and Caitlin with you as well?"

Douglas chuckled, "Ah! Terrific, Simon can regale us with tales of his administration…or perhaps even Administrate: The Musical! I'm looking forward to it already."

Carolyn ignored her first officer. "Of course, Martin, it would be our pleasure. Do they know about this, or are we to fly GERTI into your mother's house and surprise her with some broken windows?"

Years ago a question phrased like that by Carolyn Knapp-Shappey would have sent Martin into a frenzy of confused apologies, but by now he could pick up the playful tone in her voice even without seeing her smile.

"No, I did mention it to them. I'll phone them now and confirm. Simon's been in Camberley for work or something but he's on his way back home to bring Mum and Caitlin to Fitton. Thank you, again."

"You don't have to keep saying that, Skip," Arthur said in his confidential voice. "Mum actually loves babies. She'd even fly Mr Birling somewhere for free if it meant coming to see baby Skip."

Carolyn grimaced. "Arthur, you needn't make me sound quite so…motherly." She extracted the word from her teeth as if it had gone rotten in her mouth. "I'm not _completely_ soft."

Martin chuckled. "That…that is really not a word I would ever use for you, Carolyn, no. Um… one more thing…"

"Yes?"

"Please _don't_ bring Mr Birling with you."

"No fear."

"Although," Douglas began, "It _is_ traditional to wet a baby's head, and if we happened to have a bottle of Talisker lying around…"

"Absolutely not." Carolyn aimed a vague scowl in Douglas's direction, but even that was tempered by the happiness that was filling the little office the way an otter might fill a fridge.

A few seconds passed, and the four occupants of the room bathed in the happiness a little longer.

"Anyway," Martin said finally. "Thank you, so much. I suppose I'll see you later. I can hear…I can hear _my daughter_ crying, I'd better go in and…and gawp at her for a bit while Theresa sorts it out. I'm beginning to think that's mostly what fatherhood is."

"True," Douglas and Herc said almost in unison. Carolyn tutted. Arthur continued to smile seraphically.

"Well…by for now." Martin said softly. The small crew all said their goodbyes, Arthur throwing in a 'Say hello to baby Skip from me!', and then he rang off.

And for a long moment, the four of them were left staring into space, each feeling, in very different ways – and yet somehow also quite similarly – that everything had indeed changed forever.


	4. Chapter 4: Dunkirk

**~AN~ I should maybe do some research on Liechtenstein one of these days. But then, I figure, John Finnemore gave them a king for the sake of the story, so this is clearly a Liechtenstein AU in the first place. Anything goes! Maybe. Oh, also, beware the OC in this chapter. I don't really know what I'm going to do with her yet. Hooray.**

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><p><span>DUNKIRK<span>

"I just…I just think it would be really nice if she had your mother's name." Martin said affably, eyes fixed on the small, serene face of his newborn daughter. The naming conversation was going to take longer than he'd thought. It turned out that they were pretty much expected to select at least three names for the baby, which, together with Theresa's two quite lengthy surnames, seemed a ridiculous amount of syllables for such a tiny, tiny little person.

"Martin, you're terrified of my mother."

"Well, obviously. She's terrifying. Have you met her? She's the most fear-inspiring dowager princess I've ever had as a mother-in-law. I still think it would be a nice gesture."

Theresa grinned at him. He thought he was being so subtle. "Ah, yes. And it has _nothing_ to do with the fact, of course, that her name is _Gertrude_…"

Martin gave her a look of baffled innocence. "What do you mean?"

"We are not naming our daughter after an aeroplane, Martin…"

"Yes, you've made that quite clear. All right, not as her first name, then. But one of the middle names? Something Gertrude Something. Or Something Something Gertrude."

The princess of Liechtenstein sighed. "Well, all right. Maybe. It's not a bad idea, it'll give my mother something to bore all her friends with." She yawned, and snuggled slightly further down into her hospital bed. "Why didn't we have this conversation earlier?"

"Well, we thought we had a couple more weeks, for a start…" Martin reminded her. "I wonder if she'll keep up this habit of being early for everything."

"Perhaps she'll master talking early, too. And then she can choose her own names." Theresa yawned again.

"Maybe you should try and get a bit more sleep," Martin suggested, gently.

"That is a…very good idea," she agreed, wearily.

It took her a matter of seconds to drift off to sleep. Martin chuckled silently to himself, then bent very carefully to kiss her on the forehead, which was no mean feat when carrying a newborn.

He still wasn't quite used to the way it felt, to hold the little babygro full of skin and bones and hopes and dreams and tears and smiles and _life_, and feel the faintest tickle of her milky breath on his cheek. His arms felt heavy, as if his body was not up to the task of holding back all this extra love from coursing through every fibre of him, filling up his limbs and his mind and his throat. Somewhere in the back of his consciousness, he imagined himself alone on an island, wind hurling around him and threatening to whisk him off into the sea, and he was holding on desperately to the tiny bundle in his arms, knowing that this new life was, at that moment, depending completely on him for her survival and wellbeing, and yet feeling utterly, utterly lost in the enormity of the task.

Vaguely, it registered somewhere in his brain that he was about to go into a full-blown panic attack if he wasn't careful. _Breathe_, he reminded himself. _Slower. Slower_.

Gradually the wind dropped, until it was no longer a howling gale but merely a strong breeze, not one he could block out entirely, but at least one he could get through standing up.

He crossed to the window. They'd given Theresa a luxurious private room on the fourth floor of the hospital, and the view was rather breath-taking. There were hardly any areas of Liechtenstein which could be described as 'densely populated', but from this window especially he could see for miles and miles of green hills and valleys. The rest of the town stretched in the opposite direction, and the few buildings he could see from this angle were few and far between. It was at times like this that the meaning of the word 'picturesque' took on a very real meaning.

And the sky. The sky stretched itself gracefully over the landscape, cool blue interrupted only by the smallest of clouds. There was not an aeroplane in sight. Liechtenstein's airspace was not overly crowded, even in high season. The sleeping clouds drifted their separate ways in peace.

"When you're old enough to appreciate health and safety procedures," Martin whispered to his sleeping daughter, "I'll take you up there. But not a moment sooner."

"First sign of madness, brother," came a soft voice from the doorway, "talking to a baby who couldn't understand you even if she was awake."

Martin turned slowly, so as not to disturb said baby. "Hello, Theo," he whispered, moving towards his youngest sister-in-law slowly. "How…how long have you been standing there?"

She smiled at him. "Not long. I only just arrived, I got bored of waiting for Maxi and mother to finish getting ready so I came on my own."

She put her arms out towards the baby, a questioning look on her face. Martin nodded and gently placed her new niece in her arms.

"Sorry you've lost your title," he murmured. "You're not the youngest princess of Liechtenstein anymore."

She didn't catch his eye, just carried on staring, enchanted, at the baby. "Oh, it was only a matter of time. I plan to be the favourite aunt, by the way. Just letting you know."

Martin mock-frowned, "Well, you've got a lot of competition."

She shrugged, inasmuch as one can shrug while holding the youngest princess in Europe. "It was easy enough to become_ your_ favourite. Shouldn't be too difficult, the others are old and boring."

Martin grinned. She was right, as it happened, Theodora definitely was his favourite of all Theresa's sisters. At twenty, she was only four years older than the reigning King of Liechtenstein, her precocious brother Maxi, but she was infinitely more pleasant to be around. Maximilian had matured a lot since Martin's first meeting with him over three years ago, but in Martin's opinion he still had a long way to go.

Still, he reminded himself somewhat bitterly, all Maxi'd got to do was rule a nation. That _was_ childsplay compared to bringing up an actual child.

Then he realised the slightly ridiculous nature of this thought and attempted to dismiss it with a derisive snort, but somehow the derision got mixed up in another wave of terror as the wind around the island picked up again suddenly. The noise came out as more of a wail.

"Martin?" Theodora was looking at him worriedly. "Are you all right?"

"What? …Fine." he said, not wholly convincingly. "It's just…" he flung his arms vaguely in the direction of _everything, in particular_, "all this. It's…quite…I mean it's just huge. Too huge."

Theo rolled her eyes and addressed the bundle in her arms. "You have a very funny Daddy, yes you do."

"Oh great, yes, get her used to the idea that I'm a hopeless case before she's old enough to be disappointed!" Even Martin could hear the pitifully desperate ring of his voice now, even as he tried to keep it quiet for the sleeping Theresa.

"Stop it, Martin, just stop. You're going to be good at this, if you'd only stop thinking of her as…as one of your aeroplanes! She's not a machine you're going to crash if you make the slightest little mistake. She's a person, you're a person, the only difference is she's supposed to make you the happiest man in the world, not scare you half to death!"

He glared at her, suddenly indignant. "I don't know what you're talking about. Give her here."

Theodora handed the baby over, trying to suppress a grin.

"I know perfectly well what I'm doing, thank you."

"I'm sure you do."

"I'm not worried about what my role is."

"Naturally not."

"And I'm certainly not scared."

"Nope."

"Well then. Glad we got that settled."

Theo chuckled and stood slightly on her tiptoes to kiss Martin on the cheek. (The really lovely thing about the Liechtensteinian royal family was that they all seemed to be even smaller than him). "You're going to be just fine, brother dear."

Martin grinned at her sheepishly. "Thanks."

The second-youngest princess of Liechtenstein's phone beeped in her pocket. She glanced at the text. "My mother's here. I've got to go and escort her from the entrance, far be it from her to walk through a commoners' hospital unguided."

Martin smirked.

"When does your family get here?"

He considered this. "If they left when Douglas said they were going to, they should be over Dunkirk by now, or just approaching it."

She shook her head at him as she made her way to the door. "Have you even got a brain in there, or is it all just maps?"

He chuckled. "Maps. And manuals."

Once she was gone, Martin teased his brain vaguely in the direction of the thought that in a couple of hours his _family_ was going to arrive to meet his _daughter_.

If you'd told him five years ago that one day that sentence would be true of his life, he'd not have believed you.

If you'd told him five years ago that one day the word 'family' would conjour up a picture, not just of his mother, Simon and Caitlin, but also of Douglas, Arthur, Carolyn and Herc, he'd have laughed you out of the room.

Funny how things work out.


	5. Chapter 5: Epping

**AN: Ahem...so...I just realised that I've been merrily uploading to Archive of Our Own for a bit without cross-posting to here. On the plus side, that means 3 chapters in quick succession for you lot! Sorry. For so long I was loyal to FF.N... **

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><p>Thankfully, when his brother had decided that only royalty would do, Martin had not strayed too far from home to find a princess to marry. Simon had just about grown to enjoy his occasional flights to and from Vaduz with OJS, but he was rather glad the journeys weren't any longer than they already were. The steward was – how should he put it? Friendly. To the extreme.<p>

"Your coffee, sir! I mean, Simon! Sorry, I'm just so used to saying sir! Or madam. But in this case it would be sir. Only it's not, it's Simon, because we're friends! I think. Um…here's your coffee!"

"Thank you, Arthur," the senior council administrator said politely as he took the steaming cup. Seeing the younger man hover, he obligingly sipped it straight away. "Ah, yes. Perfect."

The steward beamed. "Brilliant!"

A few seconds were allowed to slither by. Arthur seemed in no hurry to move. "Was there something else you wanted to say?"

Arthur cleared his throat, "Er, yes, actually. I hope you don't mind, it's perfectly normal procedure, but as the, er, the baby's god-brother, I am actually required to conduct a short interview with each of her relatives before the er, the royal meeting."

Simon raised his eyebrows, amused. "Is that right? I had no idea, my apologies – ask away."

"Okay. The first question is – as the princess's uncle, how do you view your avuncly responsibilities?"

"…I think the word you're looking for is avuncular."

The steward regarded him for a moment. "They're both words, actually," he proclaimed, "But let's go with your one, because it sounds like a mixture between 'Garfunkel' and 'binoculars'."

"It does, rather, doesn't it."

The Royal God-Brother looked at Simon expectantly. "Ah! Yes. My avuncular responsibilities. Well…since the baby was born in, will live in, and is indeed a princess of Liechtenstein, I rather think my – responsibilities – will be limited to Skype calls, twice-annual visits and nice, thoughtful presents on birthdays and Christmas. It'll be a shame not to see little Marty's even littler one a bit more often, but the way things are… well. He's never wanted me around very much, and now he lives in Liechtenstein. If he _will_ go round marrying foreign princesses, sacrifices have to be made."

Arthur seemed to consider this.

Simon watched him as he did so.

"Okay," the steward finally said, "We might have to work on that answer."

"Might we, indeed?"

Arthur bent down conspiratorially, then decided it would be better to kneel on and lean over the seat directly in front of Simon, to communicate his secret insights from there. "I'm not supposed to tell you this, Simon, but actually, the Royal Uncle is expected to see the baby a lot. Probably about once a week. No, no, once every…two weeks. What with you being a Proper Blood Relative, and all. So you'll be wanting to charter OJS for a trip to Vaduz every second weekend."

Simon nodded, slowly. "I see."

"I'm not making this up. It's all very official royal stuff."

"Quite."

"And of course all flights will be fully…stewarded, by a steward."

"Oh, of course."

"It'll probably be me."

"I didn't doubt it."

"Not that I'll be coming, you know, to, to see the baby."

"No."

"I'm not even a Proper Blood Relative."

Simon paused. "…but you are the Royal God-Brother. As you have said. I would have thought your official responsibilities demanded regular access."

Arthur slumped slightly onto the seat, and rested his head on his folded arms. "That's what I told mum. But she said that because I'm not a Proper Blood Relative, like you and Wendy and Caitlin are, I can't expect to be able to visit whenever I want to and the only way I'll be able to see baby Skip on any old day is if we happen to be stopping off in Liechtenstein for some reason."

"I see." Simon took a long sip of his coffee. "Like, for instance, if you persuaded one of Martin's siblings to take unreasonably regular trips there."

Arthur had the grace to look slightly sheepish. "It wasn't all made up. I _do_ need to check everyone's clear on their – their royal commission."

Simon chuckled. Martin's friend was even more of a chump than Martin himself, but you couldn't fault him on his dedication and loyalty. "Well, thank you for your suggestions. Rest assured, Arthur, I will never travel to Liechtenstein with anyone other than your good selves. But, er – you understand that my work is quite, it's quite important. I can't always afford to go border-hopping every fortnight. Council administrators have things to… things to administrate."

Arthur nodded sagely. "I don't know what that means, but it does sound important."

Simon returned momentarily to his coffee. He frowned slightly. He couldn't help the tinge of guilt crawling through his mind, at the fact that Martin's ex-colleague was clearly far, far more invested in his relationship with Simon's niece than Simon himself really felt.

Arthur glanced away for a second, and suddenly noticed the second cup of coffee, lying lazily on its side. He'd accidentally knocked the trolley when he moved to speak to Simon. "Oh!"

He scrambled to his feet and scuffled slightly further down to aisle to where Caitlin was sitting, nose in a book. "Er, sorry, madam – Caitlin, I mean – but a technical issue has caused your coffee to disappear – I'll go and get another one…"

He disappeared behind the curtain to the galley. Caitlin set her book down and turned back to look at her brother. "What sort of technical issue makes coffee disappear after you've made it?"

Simon leaned back in his chair. "A right royal one."

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><p>Meanwhile, in the flight deck, a new word game had just been undertaken.<p>

"Reading."

"Pickering."

"Ealing." Douglas glanced at his watch. "Not long to go now."

It was said in a monotone. Herc frowned at him, but nodded. "Twenty minutes, providing we don't have to hold. Does Chipping Norton count?"

Douglas considered the suggestion. "Well, since it's a special occasion, I'll give you half a point."

"You are, truly, a paragon of generosity," Herc said, smirking. After a pause, he adds, for the sake of conversation, "I once met the mayor of Chipping Norton. Odd chap."

Douglas considered feigning interest, and decided against it. "I am fascinated," he deadpanned.

There was a short silence. "Are you quite all right, Douglas?" Herc asked, as breezily as he could.

"Fine, thanks."

"It's just that you seem decidedly _dour_ today. Compared to yesterday, I mean. Has something happened?"

Douglas rolled his eyes at being pushed, but Herc waited. He wasn't about to back down.

"Touching as this is, Hercules, I can assure you nothing has happened."

"Well, that's a relief. I was worried I was going to have to call Arthur to the flight deck to sing at you or something."

That raised the slightest of smiles, and Herc counted it as a minor victory. Moments later, the flight-deck door opened to reveal Carolyn, looking like a cat trying very nonchalantly not to let on that she'd got at the cream. "Hello, drivers. How long have we got to go?"

"Twenty minutes or thereabouts," Herc said smoothly. "Excited, are we?"

"Not particularly," Carolyn said, in what was not a very successful attempt to deny the fact.

Herc smiled. "Worthing, Douglas."

"What's this?" Carolyn said quickly, keen for both the topic change and the chance to one-up one or both her pilots in a game.

"Gerundial place names," The man-she-knew explained. "So far we've got Reading, Pickering, Ealing, and Chipping, as in Norton."

"Ah." Carolyn thought for a moment. "Epping?"

"Good one."

Turning to look at her, Herc saw her gaze flicker to the uncharacteristically banterless Douglas, and then back to him again, questioningly. He gave a tiny shrug and mouthed the words, "No idea."

Carolyn, though, had an inkling. She vowed to have a word or two with her longest-serving pilot when the opportunity presented itself. While she loved Herc undeniably and rather enjoyed employing him, at the same time she recognised that he could be less than useful when trying to have a serious conversation with Douglas. Their relationship had become much less…strained…since they'd been working together full-time, but the constant competitiveness still provided a fair amount of prickle.

"I'll be back when I think of another," she promised. "I'm just going to make sure Arthur's not poisoned any Crieffs."

"Always a concern," Herc conceded, grinning. The expression faded as he again glanced at Douglas, staring out at nothing in particular, only moving every now and then to adjust his grip on the steering column.

Herc sighed inwardly. If only his colleague wouldn't insist on being such an enigma.


End file.
